


Unspeakable Verse

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Canon Bisexual Character, Clothed Sex, Drunkenness, F/F, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Historical, In Public, Kissing, One Night Stands, POV First Person, Prohibition, Taxis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wherever she went, it was against her better judgment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspeakable Verse

It was all too rare to encounter a woman of such verve, of such life, as the enchanting Helen Magnus. Some women sweep or they swoon; these shrinking violets are forgotten all too soon. Not so our Helen. Helen Magnus wears a room about her shoulders when she enters, and she doesn't surrender it until she walks back out the door. She takes the air from you and makes you thankful for gasping. I'll remember our too brief encounter until the day I finally surrender my breath for good.

Edna was the first to notice her, to point at her with a cigarette holder and lean back with an arm across her chest. Another woman in trousers, who gave not one damn about the dress code that kept our lower halves shrouded. I didn't see the appeal. One might as well walk around in her knickers and claim to be striking a blow for womankind by showing off her rump and curves to all and sundry. 

But oh, what curves these were, and how well she wore the man's clothing. Her braid had come loose, temporarily tamed by a fedora pulled low over her eyes. She wore a waistcoat over a shirt that was tight in the chest and billowing in the sleeves. She spoke to the maitre-d' who cast a disparaging eye over her choice of dress. Obviously on the verge of being turned away, I lifted my hand to daintily snap my fingers. He looked toward me, I grinned, and I waved the woman over. 

"She's with me, Davis. Thank you, darling."

He didn't like me. I would have been offended if he did. The woman approached and pulled out the chair across from us. "I owe you my gratitude, madam." British. Posh and rebellion all in the same soul. How very intriguing. I sat up a bit straighter as she took her seat. She crossed one leg over the other at the knee and rested her hands on her thigh. Some of her debutante nature still showed through, however she tried to disguise it. "Helen Magnus."

I introduced myself and Edna, and Helen lifted her chin. Her lips were parted with some unspoken comment which she seemed ready to let fade. "Don't be shy... you recognize our names, it seems. The only question that remains is whether that's a good thing or bad."

"Well, I've certainly read Ms. Ferber's novels. In fact I just recently completed, ah, _So Big_? It was remarkably well-written. Your characters are simply fantastic."

I leaned close, my shoulder pressing against Edna's as I said sotto voce, "That means she didn't like it."

Helen, to her credit, just smiled. No flustering this one. "On the contrary. While I may not fully appreciate a painting on a subject I don't find particularly resonant, I can admire the talent that goes into its creation. And Ms. Ferber, you have talent to spare."

Edna raised her glass in a toast, while I just rolled my lifeblood around the ice cubes with practiced turns of my wrist. I watched Ms. Magnus through my bangs, through my glass and ice and alcohol, and smiled. "And of me?"

Helen straightened her shoulders and turned her head to the side. "Acerbic, to be sure. But not without cause. Those who suffer from your barbs will remember it next time and work to avoid your pen. Your critiques can only improve the output. Of course, I'd not stand between you and, say, Alan Milne."

"Alan?"

She smiled in a way that spoke of mysteries she refused to let go. "He's a friend."

I glanced at Edna, who was showing the surprise I was trying to hide. "How nice for you," I said in that sickly sweet way I have. God, I make myself sick sometimes. "Did you meet playing with teddy bears in your garden?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a childlike outlook on life. We were all children at one point."

"Speak for yourself."

"There's a certain nostalgia to his writing. It harkens back to a simpler time, when we needn't have to worry about wars and evil men. His books give us a chance to remember a time when we were innocent babes. I, for one, treasure the Hundred Acre Wood and all her inhabitants."

Edna smiled. "Well said, Ms. Magnus."

"Doctor, actually."

I paused with my glass just a hair above the table and stared at her. "Doctor?"

"That's right. I studied at Oxford."

My lips curled into my most deprecating expression and I tilted my head to the side. "And you read books about stuffed bears and donkeys. Adorable."

"And your work, Miss Parker. You're often touted as such a wit, a wisecracker by your own admission. But one wouldn't know it from your writing. There's humor, to be sure, but the work itself is... is bittersweet. There's a thread of sadness and tragedy in all of your work."

I lit a cigarette and inhaled before I even granted her a shrug. "Like laugh. We can laugh all we want, we can enjoy a sunny day... but we all know how it ends."

Something in what I said struck a chord. Her expression became haunted and she looked down at her hands rather than at anything concrete in the room. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But do you refuse to enjoy a symphony simply because you know the last note will soon be played? Or do you exist within the moment and appreciate the melody?"

"Depends on the opera." I took a slow drag on my cigarette and eyed her again. She wasn't like Edna, I decided. Edna wore men's clothing to be provocative, because it was comfortable, because she didn't want to be a typical Kewpie doll. The good doctor chose her clothing practically. There was a hint of dirt under her fingernails, a bit of wear on the cuffs from resting on a table. Her hair left little question that she was not concerned about how she appeared. She wore what was appropriate and comfortable for whatever she was doing.

Damn it, I loved her.

I bought her a drink out of courtesy, and I bought her a second to show my appreciation for her honesty. I had enough back-patters and hangers on. I apologized for the drinks being non-alcoholic, but she didn't seem to mind. She drank tea with her pinkie and ring finger slightly extended, so quaint and so British even Edna couldn't help but smile. Eventually Edna begged other errands she had to run and bid us both farewell with quick pecks on the cheek before she scurried away. I was left alone with the enigmatic Brit lady doctor and I realized I was nearly burned down to the fingers on my last cigarette.

Dangerous things happen in such situations.

When Lady Magnus polished off her tea, I suggested going somewhere to get a more adult beverage. She surprised me by saying, "Why, Mrs. Parker, that would illegal," in a way that implied illegality was a selling point in her book. "I wouldn't even know where to find such an establishment."

"Lucky you found me, then."

The sun was setting when we caught a taxicab. We went to this dive I know, a hole-in-the-wall in never-you-mind where. As ridiculous as Prohibition was, I found the ritual and the secrecy invigorating. Clandestine meetings in quiet nooks, bars so narrow that if you leaned to avoid brushing the brick wall you'd snag your skirt on a chair. She found a seat and, after searching in vain for one near enough for conversation, planted myself firmly on her lap. 

What follows is foggy at best, indiscrete at worst, and all manner of none of your business. 

When we left the establishment we were both far friendlier than we'd been at the hotel. Who was holding up whom, even we couldn't have said. But it was a speakeasy, and we respected their rules and their secrecy enough to feign sobriety as we stepped to the curb and attempted to hail a passing taxicab. Helen gripped the material of my skirt and hoisted it to reveal my leg, and I pointed my toe as a passing cab that nearly overturned itself to stop for us.

I hustled Helen into the back and gave him the address of my pied-a-terre. Helen gave him her address as well and offered to pay for us both as her destination was farther away than mine. I pressed against her for the warmth, for the feel of a man's coat on my cheek and a warm body underneath it. Helen accepted my cuddling and lightly kissed my brow through the curtain of my bangs. Her lips were soft and gently they traced my brow. 

"Mm, my dear, if you were not a woman..."

"Oh, Dotty." Helen clucked her tongue in disappointment. "Denying a woman the same opportunities as a man simply because of her gender? I'm appalled at you."

I lifted my head and I was drunk enough to do it. I kept my eyes open, as did she, and our kiss was over nearly as quickly as it began. We parted but neither went far. I smiled and I could feel her breath on my face. Warm. Like a passing gust in spring. It lifted my hair and gently sat it down again, and I touched my nose to hers playfully. "Careful, Dr. Magnus. You wouldn't want to burn yourself on my acid tongue."

She pinched my chin between thumb and forefinger and parted my lips. I touched the tip of my tongue to my bottom lip, teasing her with a fleeting glimpse of it. "I think I shall risk it, Mrs. Parker." She bowed her head and kissed me again, and guided my tongue into her mouth with a quick touch of hers. I turned my head and her mouth fitted perfectly over mine.

All the men I've kissed faded in comparison to her mouth. If kissing every woman was as gentle and compromising as this, then I understood the queers not a whit. I could have kissed Helen Magnus every morning for the rest of my days and still yearned for more, so it was she who ended the kiss neither of us would admit to beginning. She turned her head slightly to watch the driver, a solid boy who kept his eyes on the road ahead and not the show playing out just behind him. I watched wisps of blonde hair in front of her ear. Such an exquisite ear! I'd write an ode to the shell, and not even Dr. Magnus could call it bittersweet.

I captured the lobe of the treasure in my mouth, sucked and nibbled and teased and sucked again until Helen was squirming in the seat. She said my name, a quiet, "Dot." Such a mousy thing, a dot, a miniscule thing that became an epic poem by Keats from her lips. I kissed along her cheek. No stubble, just taut and perfumed skin. 

Her hand moved to my knee and stroked up over my stocking, pushing my skirt ahead with the heel of her hand. I shifted my weight and opened my legs to her, my hands on the side of her head as I stared at her. She tightened her fingers on my inner thigh, that sensitive and secret spot where the sensations shot straight through to my sex. With each caress, I gasped in more air until my lungs could hold no more. I let it out with a shudder and she found my bottom lip with her tongue. I took it into my mouth and moaned.

Helen's fingers smoothed the material of my drawers and I lifted to meet her. "No," she whispered. So garrulous and erudite before, now reduced to one word directives, I sank back to the seat and let her roam. Her fingers moved against me and I dropped one hand from her cheek to her shoulder to hold tightly as she teased me. The car went over a bump and her hand was forced harder against me, and "Helen!" leapt from my lips unbidden. 

"Sh," she whispered. I kissed her, a surefire way to keep quiet and also to confirm this was really happening. I wanted to guide her hand, but I fought the inclination. She would go where she wanted, and I was desperate to see where exactly that was. She turned her head and gazed down. "Touch me, Dot," she whispered. "See what you do to me..."

I lowered my hand from her shoulder and pressed it against the crotch of her trousers. How odd to not feel an insistent weight there! A monolith rising for the sole purpose of invasion. I rubbed her with my four fingers as she assaulted me with only two, and we rose to meet each other in the manufactured privacy of our taxicab.

Helen's finger moved the silk of my underwear against my sensitive sex, increasing its size until I felt like her entire hand was moving against me. I pressed one hand tight against her mound, scratched her cheek with the other, and bowed my head forward with a cry of release as she brought me to climax. My face flushed, words for once driven from my tongue as I clung to her. She lightly kissed my closed eyes and then my temple, and moved her hand down to cover mine with it. I let her guide me; obviously she had a better idea of what to do, and she soon began to make quiet sounds of pleasure through closed lips.

The orgasm was her own; it was little better than masturbation using someone else's hand, but I felt a certain measure of pride when she sank back against the seat with her lips parted and her eyes closed. I fell with her, bowing to rest my head on her lap with my hand on her thigh. She stroked my hair and I was near sleep when the cabdriver, bless his professional heart, calmly brought us to a stop and informed us we had arrived at my home.

I sat up and looked at Helen, knowing it was a goodbye. Women like this didn't linger even in towns like New York. She belonged to the world. She started to say something and I put two fingers against her lips. "We never said hello, so let us not bid farewell. Whether we two souls shall meet again is for fate to tell."

Helen turned her head and kissed my palm, the inside of my wrist, and smiled. "Sleep well, Dotty."

"I don't sleep, darling. But whatever I do when we part company, I guarantee you it shall be done well."

"I'd expect nothing less." She kissed me and I stepped out of the taxicab. 

I waited on the curb until it was out of sight, the dark shape of Helen Magnus visible in the back window. She didn't look back; I'd have been disappointed in her if she had. I kept one hand against the front of my dress, remembering the pressure of her fingers against me, and my face flushed as I carried the memory inside to contemplate it in silence.


End file.
